It had been a month.
A month in which the little Wächtervampir and the young Tyrant Demon had built a friendship — fragile, yet utterly unexpected.
Donovan had grown during that short time — not only in height, but in presence.
Everyone knew him.
But not everyone liked him.
His loose pine-green wool sweater now stretched — dangerously tight — across his muscular arms and broad chest.
Perhaps it was the generous amount of food he devoured without shame?
Perhaps — it was his demonic nature itself, feeding him growth and strength.
A Tyrant Demon could go without sleep — as long as his stomach was full.
But Don did it anyway.
He snored. He dozed.
Even curled up with a meat bone in his arms — like a content animal.
He was a wonder in himself — an anachronism among demons.
What amazed him even more was how generously Queen Ayumi cared for him.
He soaked up her affection — as if it were a treasure he had never known before.
For Tyrant Demons, it was only natural to fend for themselves the moment they hatched;
Hunt. Kill. Survive.
That was life in the Demon Realm.
And now?
Now he had more food than he could carry.
More warmth than he had ever dreamed of.
Oh yeah — now this was living!
With a moss-pig drumstick between his teeth — and two more in his hands — Don trudged, utterly self-satisfied, onto the rooftop terrace of Shuzo's room.
With every step, his upper body swayed heavily — like a sluggish moss-pig barely able to carry its own weight.
"Where's he gone this time?"
A crack echoed — as he crushed the bone between his teeth and swallowed.
Grease shone on his chin.
It dripped onto the freshly scrubbed marble floor—
while he curiously looked around for the black-haired one.
This time, Shuzo wasn't at the card table.
Not in front of the hologram device—where he usually mocked Kioto's private pictures.
Hacked, of course.
No — worse.
Donovan spotted him. Finally.
He sat still, motionless — almost petrified — before the ornate railing.
Legs drawn up.
His forehead leaned, defeated, against the cold iron bar.
His gaze drifted out into the castle gardens.
There — where the fountain shimmered, and the neatly tended flowers stood in their ordered beds.
He was supposed to be studying.
The shrines. The abilities —
of Vynesalic's Untergötter, all by heart — just as his mother demanded.
But Ayumi was busy — far too busy to help him.
Mom's been acting strange lately anyway…
The thought stung.
And Father?
Kuroboshi was gone. Outside.
Not in the city — but far beyondit, in the Fire Wastelands —
where a mighty creature spread its wings.
They said it was Ryze — the Untergott of Fire — who was causing trouble.
Of course he's always part of the coolest stuff…
He could see it when he looked up;
a shadow in the distance. In the sky.
Like a single wingbeat — bending the trees beneath the twin suns.
Was it really him?
It was hard to tell — yet a faint tremor made the walls quiver.
"HEY!"
Don's voice was far too loud, his mouth still full of meat.
Grease splattered.
Half his bite landed outside — on the spotless marble tiles.
Careless.
Did he care?
Not a bit. Not my job.
Ah, Don… if only you knew.
If you knew what's still waiting for you…
For a moment, Don froze — as if he'd heard something.
"Huh?"
He glanced around from the corner of his eye, swallowed the meat.
Weird. I could've sworn…
A quick shrug. Whatever.
Then he refocused — on him.
The little poison dwarf.
Shuzo didn't move.
Don frowned, puzzled.
He stepped closer and nudged the prince's shoulder with his foot.
"Hey, I'm talking to you!"
The black-haired boy flinched — had to catch himself to keep from toppling over.
"What the hell?!"
His eyes flared, green like poisonous fire.
"Don't kick me. Got it?"
Don ignored his attempt to sound dangerous.
"Nope."
He smirked — and shoved the half-gnawed drumstick right in front of his face.
Shuzo froze.
"Dude—"
Drool slid down from the bitten edge.
"Here, eat something — you'll feel better, lady." Don grinned wide. Wider.
His grey eyes sparkled — full of expectation.
He meant it. Seriously meant it.
"No, thanks."
Shuzo recoiled with a disgusted hiss — leaping aside like a cat dodging a splash of spit.
He brushed the dust off his fine white shirt.
His toxic green gaze slid sideways, catching the demon's gleaming marble eyes.
"Sure?" Donovan tilted his head — the white lock, shaped like a question mark, falling over his nose.
"Tastes… really good!"
Shuzo's gaze lingered.
A moment.
From the dripping piece of meat — back to the demon.
"Tja…" The prince sighed, overly theatrical, as he turned back to the railing.
"Not today, bubblehead."
He leaned against it — dramatically.
A shrug — so exaggerated the metal gave a faint vibration.
Silence spread.
A silence heavier than any word.
Don kept chewing — utterly unfazed — as if watching a good drama unfold.
His eyes stayed on Shuzo, captivated, intrigued.
He even groaned while chewing.
Even the nymphs — colorful, almost translucent, floating — threw him dirty looks.
But the curly-haired demon had other concerns.
Something was off. The prince looked… broken.
A shadow hung over him — one Don clearly didn't understand;
Or maybe it was just the tree beside them in the castle garden stealing the light?
Whatever it was — it fit the tragic sight of that little heap of misery.
"Shuzo…"
At last, he stepped up to the railing himself.
He looked in the same direction — over the fountain, the statues, the flying nymphs — who scattered the light like shimmering specks of dust.
Nothing out of the ordinary.
And yet…
…Donovan was simply a demon through and through.
Empathy? What's that supposed to be?
"Man, you're such a drama queen."
A statement. Cold. Merciless.
Don pushed his lower lip forward, pouting.
He looked at the black-haired prince — defiant — while the other only sighed and sank deeper into himself.
"Thanks…"
It clearly caught the curly-haired demon off guard.
"Huh? No comeback? What's the princess sulking about this time?"
But Shuzo didn't answer.
His lips stayed tightly pressed together — afraid that any word might give him away.
Dramatic as ever, his brows twitched.
His fingers clung to the metal — as if mourning the fading shadow carried away by the summer breeze.
A fallen warrior — just the cheap version.
But the tyrant got no reply.
Don sighed, shook himself, and wiped the grease from his mouth with his forearm.
Then he crouched right in front of Shuzo —
elbows resting loosely on his thighs, his expression half-challenging, half-curious.
"Alright, listen—" he started with a crooked grin.
"You tell me what's wrong, and I'll leave you alone. No need to cry, really."
Of course, that was a lie.
Donovan never left anyone alone — least of all Shuzo.
"Oh, come on! Shut up, Don!" Shuzo snapped — high-pitched, sharp.
He turned stubbornly back to the railing, sulking like a bratty kid.
Lips pursed, forehead pressed harder against the iron — so Don couldn't see his face.
But the demon saw the posture instead:
Arms crossed.
Whining — almost pathetically so.
Still, Don wouldn't be Don if he gave up now.
His grin widened; his voice turned theatrical, deep:
"You know," he rumbled — proud, smug.
"Back home, we've got a saying.
When someone's in a bad mood, you've gotta say something really filthy. Then they'll feel better."
Shuzo glanced over his shoulder, skeptical. His eyes widened in outrage.
"You call the Demon Realm home?"
Then they narrowed — to slits.
A moment passed — curiosity crept in.
"So?What do they say?"
Don's face twisted, as if preparing to shock Shuzo with something utterly absurd.
Then he suddenly bellowed:
"YOU STUPID, DROOLING TOAD-PILE OF PISS!"
Servants screamed in fright.
The royal guards froze mid-glare.
Nymphs fluttered off in panic — one even slammed into the wall.
Shuzo's eyes flew wide open.
And then came silence.
Dead silence.
He blinked, utterly speechless.
"That…" he gasped, struggling to find his words. "That's disgusting."
"Yes!" Don nodded vigorously. "That's the point!"
Triumphantly, he threw his arms wide.
"You've gotta say it so loud everyone thinks you've lost your damn mind!"
Shuzo just stared.
Said nothing.
Then — the verdict.
"That. Was completely stupid."
So dry, so direct — even Kioto would've turned pale with envy.
"No!" Don countered smoothly.
"That's advanced demon art!" He placed a hand proudly on his chest.
The prince drew in a sharp breath — ready to fire back with something sarcastic.
But Don thundered on, quick and loud:
"WRETCHED — BRAINLESS SHIT-CAKE EATER!"
The G.O.L.D. guards reacted instantly.
Standing by the door, they reached for their comms out of sheer instinct — staring, utterly horrified.
"What is wrong with him?"
A murmur spread — sharp, uneasy, almost threatening.
Whatever that demon was teaching the young prince…
it had to be reported immediately.
And if you listened closely — really closely —
you could already hear Kioto somewhere far away, deep in the forests, letting out a long, resigned sigh.
As if he had known this would happen.
Shuzo blinked, staring at Don.
Speechless — mouth open.
As if the demon before him had just confessed to marrying a bird.
But — his mouth corners.
They twitched. Reluctantly.
Unwilling, yet there.
"Dude…"
A sharp, half-suppressed squeak.
His shoulders shook — a grunt escaped.
And then —
he burst out laughing.
At first it was quiet.
Then louder.
Then ringing.
Liberating.
A sound that echoed across the terrace — brighter than the roar in the distance.
"Are you completely insane?" he gasped, clutching his face — but the scandalized looks from the Wächtervampire only made it worse.
Worse — and funnier.
A dark grin pulled at his lips. Satisfaction.
"You call that insane?" Don shouted proudly. "Buddy — you laugh like a psychopath!"
"Tja…"
Shuzo snorted, chuckled — wiping his mouth and nose with his forearm.
A small act of rebellion against every manner he'd ever been taught.
"Kioto's going to destroy you — and I don't mean in Vyne's…"
He narrowed his eyes, amused.
"Then he clearly doesn't know the Demon Realm either!" Don shot back with a grin.
Full of confidence:
"I'll teach you how to swear. Then you'll never be depressed again, promise."
But suddenly he stopped — frowning, thoughtful.
"Huh? Wait a sec…"
Uncertainty flickered in his eyes.
"Wait— Kioto? Why Kioto?"
He hadn't noticed.
Hadn't really listened.
Of course not.
"You're an idiot…"
Shuzo snorted softly — a smile lingering on his lips beneath those almost glowing eyes.
His braided ponytail swayed as he lifted his shoulders — as if he could finally start hoping again.
"Maybe." Don grinned like a kid on a sugar high, chuckling.
"But an entertaining idiot."
For a moment, everything felt lighter.
But when the next roar of the beast echoed far beyond the royal city — Shuzo's expression darkened.
His smile faded, shoulders sinking.
His gaze drifted back down to the fountain.
Don noticed immediately — and it threw him off.
Again?!
He sighed, running a hand through his messy white curls — now greasy, sticking together — as if this, too, were his personal side mission.
"Buddy, seriously? What's wrong this time?"
"I'll tell you later…" Shuzo muttered — barely audible, and then, quieter still: "Maybe…"
He cast a quick glance toward the guards — checking if they were listening.
His lips twisted in what looked like fake sulking, but his eyes gave him away.
Serious.
"Later? When later?" Don frowned, confused.
Shuzo hesitated, then — softly, faster than expected:
"Four o'clock… in the castle garden. Before dawn."
A silence fell between them — heavy, suffocating.
"Four a.m.? What are you, a beak rat?"
Don snorted, smiled faintly, then grew more serious.
"Alright. But you'd better not ditch me, man."
Shuzo just nodded — pushed off the railing and left the room without a word.
Just like that. Cold as ice.
His footsteps echoed across the cold tiles — fading away.
Don watched him go, thoughtful.
"Huh? What kind of dwarf drama was that…" he muttered, reaching for the last drumstick he'd stuffed into his pocket.
Tasted like lint…
…Delicious.
Yeah… okay, whatever. Moving on.
He took a big bite — grease running down his chin.
"Well then… maybe I just need something else to eat."
He shook his head and stepped back from the terrace into the castle.
Not to Shuzo.
Not to the job he was actually supposed to be doing — as a bodyguard…
No.
To Ursula, the head of provisions.
Who would catch him again.
Scold him again.
Call him an insatiable monster — again.
But what did Ursula know about a hungry demon?
Exactly.
Nothing.
And while Don's thoughts lingered on food, the shadows beyond the horizon drew closer, tighter.
The hour before dawn would decide everything...
»Time stretches like eternity…
Yet the future already knows the end of that eternity.
Beneath all the light, the darkestshadow grows — and those who do not see it…
will feel it only when it's far too late.«
Outside — beyond the palace walls —
the world told a different truth:
In the dim forest.
Between moss and drifting veils of mist,
a small Vavan padded through the damp earth.
Its fluffy tail twitched impatiently.
The oval ears perked up,
while its round, gleaming eyes took in the world with restless wonder —
they reflected the pale light breaking through the branches above.
Its fur — soft and white as milk.
Velvety ears twitched at every sound, and its round little nose wiggled as it curiously tested the air.
Too innocent to sense the coming terror.
It wasn't afraid.
Quite the opposite.
With a squeak, it rose onto its hind legs — proud as a tiny king standing amidst his unseen pack.
It knew:
As long as it stayed near its own kind, it was safe. Always.
A pack —
it had strayed from today.
Its snout sniffed faster now.
With a quick leap — nimble, hurried — he reached for a floating butterfly.
A high, bright squeak escaped him — full of life.
It echoed back, rippling through the misty forest.
He was used to the light that guided his path.
That gave him warmth.
But light… did not drive him away.
Him.
The shadow hunter.
His aura silenced every creature at once.
A presence — heavy, suffocating.
Between the trees, it moved forward — a massive shape.
Soundless.
Its jowls flared, damp and tense.
A growl vibrated deep in its chest.
Black-green scales glimmered in the dim light — stretching over muscles that rolled like waves beneath the skin.
Claws carved deep furrows into the moss.
Its nostrils caught the scent — releasing heavy breaths;
hot, poisonous vapors streaming out.
The front paw sank into the soil — and froze mid-motion.
Found.
The young Vavan froze.
Paws — still outstretched toward the butterfly.
Its ears twitched.
Its eyes widened.
An instinctive realization — born too late.
The pupils in the hunter's blood-red eyes narrowed to slits.
Then — only motion.
The attack!
The ground shuddered beneath the impact.
A cry tore through the air — sharp, high-pitched, trembling.
ERROR!
The small body lunged forward in panic.
RUN!
The shadow's second paw struck the ground — sprinting. Faster!
Seconds.
TICK—TOCK!
Live or die.
Over!
The choice was made:
A scream of pain shattered the world.
A jolt — jaws tore open.
A splintering crack of vertebrae.
No escape.
White fur turned red.
Tonight, the prey had chosen —
death.
The creature shook its head in a frenzy, ripping flesh as its ragged breath rumbled out in snarling bursts.
Skin stretched between the fangs.
Tendons ground.
Bones cracked.
The shrill cries echoed in seconds — growing weaker. Quieter.
A decision. A hesitation.
An irreversible consequence.
The fluffy tail twitched one last time — before falling limp.
The paws still trembled.
Only reflex.
The butterfly —
fluttered, trapped against the blood-soaked fur.
Dragged into a battle that had never been its own.
In panic, it beat its colorful wings,
desperate to escape the crimson flow — to survive.
But the still, tiny claws held it fast —
until even the final flutter grew weak.
A hot, animal breath shoved the fragile creature aside.
Wild, gasping.
Pushed it deeper into the sea of blood —
while breaking through the rib bones of its fallen prey.
Drops fell like ruby pearls onto the moss.
One's lifeblood — another's power.
The rumbling hunting roar that followed was so brutal, it made the entire forest tremble.
A rush of triumph.
And there —
where moments ago the defiant light had still burned in the eyes of a small creature —
only blood remained…
flowing like a scarlet river through the silence of the dead.
Three guilty. Two victims. One act.
And yet — not the same.
Tell me, who bears the blame?
The one who causedit?
The one who distracted?
The one who killed?
Or the one who wasn't there —
to stop it before it happened?
Not so simple anymore,
is it?
Many eyes see — but few still understand.
»Guilt.«
It spreads, dissolves, reshapes itself with every perspective.